Something Stronger
by Skye Aerrow
Summary: After nearly losing their lives, the Doctor and Donna decide they need to be drinking something stronger than tea.


**Title**: Something Stronger  
**Author**: Skye Aerrow  
**Rating**: T  
**Warnings (if any)**: Kissing, mild profanity  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Doctor Who, and I am in no way affiliated with the BBC.  
**Summary**: After nearly losing their lives, the Doctor and Donna decide they need to be drinking something stronger than tea.

* * *

"Something Stronger"

THERE WAS ALWAYS a great deal of running to do, but that day, they ran so hard and so far that even the Doctor ended up out of breath. He and Donna doubled over in the TARDIS' console room, shaking with laughter and panting for air. Tears sprang to the Doctor's eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. "At the rate this is going, I'll regenerate," he said.

"So stop then," said Donna.

"I'm trying!"

"You're a moron."

The Doctor threw an arm across Donna's shoulders as more laughter racked his body. Donna wrapped her hand around his bony fingers. "Oi, spaceman," she said. "We almost got murdered."

"That wouldn't have been my fault," he said.

"I wasn't the one who slapped the emperor, you know."

"He wouldn't stop talking! I was making a point!"

Donna clicked her tongue. "If you'd married me off, you could've walked back here at your own leisure," she said.

"What, and leave my best mate stranded on Elysium Five?" he asked. "Donna Noble, you are mental."

"Yeah, and you'd know it," she said with a smile.

The Doctor shook his head and dropped his arm from Donna's shoulders. Then, he twisted away from her and busied himself with the console controls. "So, what'll it be then? Sixteenth-century France? Modern Alpha Centauri? Or… maybe you'd fancy a chat with your mum?"

"I miss Gramps," Donna said, "but do we have to leave just now?"

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked.

"We ran for half an hour," she said. "I could use a break, yeah?"

"Single vascular system, that's right. I'd forgotten."

"We can't all be Martians."

"Suppose not," he said, and his eyebrow quirked upward. "Do you want to make tea?"

"I'm not making anything," she said. "I'll have a shower while _you_ make it, though." Donna smacked him on the arm. The Doctor winced, rubbing his bicep. Donna laughed and started down the hall leading into the bathroom. Smirking, the Doctor watched her walk away. Seeing his discomfort had clearly put a spring in her step.

Once Donna was gone, the Doctor went to the kitchen and got out the kettle. He withdrew his sonic screwdriver and used it to bring the water to a boil. When the pot finally squealed, the Doctor grinned in triumph. "More fun this way," he said to himself.

The screwdriver slid back into his pocket with minimal resistance. Donna claimed tea tasted funny when he brewed it with the screwdriver. He didn't want her knowing he'd used it… Maybe she couldn't _really _tell the difference, after all. Maybe it was all inside her head.

Once the liquid had more or less settled, the Doctor poured himself a cup. The tea itself was dark and tasted bitter on his tongue. He made a face. "She has a point."

"Who does?" Donna asked.

The Doctor spun around, nearly dropping his cup in the process. "That was speedy, Miss Noble."

Donna shrugged without giving an explanation. She brushed past the Doctor and snatched the cup out of his hands. After giving it a cautious sniff, she scowled down into it. "You made tea," she said.

"Yes," he said. "We agreed I was going to."

"Yeah, suppose," Donna said. She carried the cup over to the sink and poured its contents down the drain. The tea gurgled as it vanished, disappearing into nothingness. The Doctor frowned. He wasn't sure what Donna was doing, but he knew better than to question her after they'd nearly lost their lives. "We need something stronger than tea," Donna said.

"Harvey Wallbanger?" the Doctor asked.

Donna snorted.

"I just learned how to make it," said the Doctor.

"Yeah, figures," Donna said. She poked him in the arm to get him to move away from the cabinets overhead. Donna stood on tiptoe and stretched as far as she could. Her fingers closed around the glass handle, and she pulled so hard, the door popped off and clattered to the ground.

"You're paying for that," the Doctor said.

"Not likely, spaceman. Where's the hell's that bottle of gin?"

Two hours and three bottles of whiskey later, Donna and the Doctor were dancing on the kitchen counter – sans shoes, of course (they weren't completely out of their minds). They hooked elbows and turned wildly in a circle while the Doctor sang a bawdy tune in indecipherable Gallifreyan. Their bodies spun round and round and round until their eyes saw stars, and then they twirled some more. By the time they finally came to a stop, the Doctor had run out of lyrics and Donna felt her stomach performing elaborate somersaults.

"You've stopped singing," she said.

The Doctor shrugged. "I've forgotten the words." He plopped down on his butt and swung his legs over the side of the counter. Then, he stretched a hand toward Donna to pull her down beside him. She slipped her fingers into his and let him drag her over to him.

"Spaceman," she said, "I think that was cheap whiskey."

"I'm happy," said the Doctor. "Aren't you happy? We're alive!" He threw his arms out to emphasize his point and nearly hit her in the face. Donna grabbed his wrist and held it tightly against her chest.

"Let me go," the Doctor said.

"You've had a lot, mate," Donna said. "You are so drunk."

"And you're not?" asked the Doctor, but he didn't try to struggle. Donna's vise grip had slackened somewhat, so it was no longer painful. In fact, he discovered her touch was enjoyable. Her hands were smoother than he'd noticed – warmer, too – and the nails were polished and well-sculpted. He admired them.

Donna realized the Doctor wasn't paying attention at the same moment that her gaze fell on his mouth. Her head was spinning, but she knew she hadn't watched his mouth before. As he studied her hands, his lips parted slightly. The bottom was slightly fuller than the top. They were nice lips, Donna noted. Why hadn't she even noticed them until now?

"Donna," said the Doctor, and his voice was lower than she'd heard it pitched before, "you filched that whiskey before we left Chiswick. It's yours."

As Donna opened her mouth to reply, the Doctor's tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and she completely forgot what she'd wanted to say. She threw herself at him without a moment's hesitation. Her arms encircled his neck, her legs wrapped around his skinny waist, and they toppled backward on the counter in a heap of clothes and body parts.

When Donna smashed her lips against his, the Doctor was initially stunned. Had he not been tipsy, he would've merely pushed her off of him. But his brain was no longer in charge of his body. He flipped them over so that he was on top and eagerly returned her advances. One of his hands braced against the counter while the other held her waist, pulling her flush against him. There was no denying that they were snogging now.

Without warning, Donna's knee came up and struck the Doctor in the crotch. He broke away from her and fell to his side on the counter. Now, he was winded from the kiss as well as confused and in serious pain. "What the bloody hell was that – "

"Not up for discussion, alien boy!" Donna scowled and passed a hand over her mouth. "God, that didn't happen. That didn't happen. No way in hell I just snogged –"

"No discussion," the Doctor said, whimpering as he struggled to sit up. "It's in the past, it never happened."

"I'm sober now," said Donna. She smoothed her hair and readjusted her clothes before sliding down from the counter. Her legs wobbled unsteadily, and as she groped for support, her land settled on the Doctor's knee. She recoiled as though she'd been backhanded.

"Oh, come on," said the Doctor. "You could really do worse!"

Once again, Donna opened her mouth to speak – only this time, she was interrupted by a sudden stream of vomit.

Needless to say, they never spoke of it again. They threw out all the whiskey and the carpet Donna ruined. They disinfected the counter. It was in the past, the Doctor said, and that was where it stayed.


End file.
